


To Risk Making a Fool

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blushing!Enjolras, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Shy!Enjolras, Shyness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Will probably make you puke rainbows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has feelings for Grantaire and has no idea how to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Risk Making a Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a J. B. Priestley quote - "Many a man is praised for his reserve and so-called shyness when he is simply too proud to risk making a fool of himself."
> 
> Literally just unabashed fluff.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I own only my typos.

Enjolras couldn’t stop watching him. Couldn’t stop watching  _Grantaire_.

He couldn’t tell you what it was about him, if it was the way his blue eyes seemed to constantly sparkle with mischief, the way his dark curls flopped into his face, the way his cheeks and lips seemed flushed (whether with wine or something else, Enjolras didn’t know, and though he knew he should be disapproving of the wine, when it did such wonderful things to Grantaire’s lips, how could he?), but something kept drawing Enjolras’s eyes over to him when he was supposed to be discussing the merits of Obamacare - damnit, the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act; they had  _just_  had a discussion about the importance of using its proper name - with Combeferre and Feuilly, and not for the first time that evening Combeferre elbowed him. “Everything alright?” he asked in undertones, hiding something that looked suspiciously like a smile when Enjolras looked around wildly.

“Fine,” Enjolras said, perhaps a bit too loudly and a bit too high-pitched, blushing furiously at the look both Combeferre and Feuilly gave him. “I’m fine,” he continued, staring down at his notes without seeing anything that was written on them. "What were you saying?"

Feuilly exchanged a look with Combeferre. “I was saying that maybe you should just try talking to him.”

Enjolras’s gaze flickered up to land first on Grantaire, who was laughing uproariously at something that Bahorel was saying, then on Feuilly, who wasn’t even bothering to hide his smirk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rolling his eyes, Feuilly sat back in his chair. “Of course you do,” he sighed, exasperated. “Everyone in this bar knows what I’m talking about. Except, you know, you. And Grantaire.”

“You have been a little obvious,” Combeferre murmured, not flinching at the glare Enjolras gave him. “I mean, you’ve been staring at him for weeks now. Don’t you think maybe you should try having a conversation with him that doesn’t involve you two yelling at each other?”

Enjolras looked down at his hands, still flushed crimson. He muttered something that neither of them could hear, and Feuilly leaned in, frowning slightly. “What did you say, Enjolras?”

Heaving a sigh, Enjolras repeated, still quiet, but loud enough for both of them to hear, “But what do I say?” He looked desperately from Combeferre to Feuilly, both of whom were unable to contain their laughter, and buried his head in his arms. “I hate you both,” he said, voice muffled.

Combeferre clapped him on the back. “It can’t be that bad,” he told him, voice mild. “You have no issues giving speeches in front of roaring crowds. I am sure you’ll find a way to say…whatever it is that you want to say…to Grantaire.”

Enjolras lifted his head up, narrowing his eyes at Grantaire's visage, pursing his lips just slightly. He  _was_  good at making speeches. Which perhaps gave him an idea of how to approach this…

* * *

 

The next night, Enjolras approached Grantaire after the meeting, something clasped firmly in his fist. “Grantaire,” he said, breath catching in his throat when Grantaire turns those blue eyes on him, looking at him appraisingly. “I, uh, I had hoped to speak with you.”

Grantaire didn’t smile, though his eyebrows rose slightly. “Well, don’t let me stop you, Apollo,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.

Enjolras sat - more like plopped down - on the chair, feeling a blush creep up his neck, and he cleared his throat and stared determinedly down at his lap. “How are you doing today, Grantaire?” he asked carefully, not looking at Grantaire.

If he had been looking, he would have seen shock flash across Grantaire’s face before settling into stunned confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“Um, how are you?” Enjolras repeated, still not remotely looking Grantaire’s direction.

Grantaire blinked at him, opening and closing his mouth several times before stating, more as a question than anything, “I’m good?”

Enjolras nodded, still looking down at his lap. “Excellent, excellent.”

“How are you, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked cautiously, trying in vain to catch Enjolras’s gaze. “Are you feeling ok? Haven’t been hit on the head recently or anything, have you?”

Though Enjolras frowned slightly, he still didn’t look up, his hands stilling. “Of course not,” he snapped, sounding just for a second like his normal self, but then his voice smoothed again as he asked, “How is your art coming along recently? Have you been working on anything new?”

Grantaire was staring at him as if he had grown another head. “What the fuck are you  _on_ , Enjolras? And what the fuck are you looking at?”

He was out of his seat before Enjolras could notice, could stop him, and grabbed the stack of notecards from Enjolras’s trembling hands. “What the fuck are these?” he asked, voice quiet. “You really need  _notecards_  to treat me like a human being?” Without looking at the cards, he tossed them on the ground, a sneer crossing his face. “While I’m glad to rank as high as one of your causes to get fucking flashcards made up in my honor, I don’t need your pity conversation or whatever the hell this is supposed to be.”

Then he was gone, sweeping out of the room as Enjolras just stared numbly at the cards scattered across the floor. After a long, silent moment, Enjolras stood and left as well, determinedly not looking at any of the other Amis.

Once he was gone, Jehan picked one of the notecards off the floor and read it, barely stifling a giggle. He passed the card to Combeferre, who also laughed slightly when reading it. “He tried?” Jehan said softly.

“The sad thing is, yeah, he really did,” Combeferre sighed, setting the notecard down on the table, idly tracing his fingers over the words written at the top: “THINGS TO COMPARE GRANTAIRE’S EYES TO:”

“Too bad it didn’t work,” Bossuet said glumly, putting to words what all of them were thinking.

They all filtered off after that, leaving Enjolras’s notecards scattered on the floor. No one saw what was written on the rest of them, save for the barmaid, who swept up once they were gone, and held the last notecard up in confusion, reading it and wondering what it could possible mean when it said: “KISS HIM. ASK FOR CONSENT FIRST (CONSENT=IMPORTANT) BUT THEN JUST KISS HIM.”

* * *

 

The next few nights were awkward for everyone, though perhaps no one more than Enjolras and Grantaire, who still weren’t really speaking to each other. And then there was the night when Enjolras…well, Enjolras didn’t really speak at all.

He had kicked things off as normal, getting the ball rolling on the discussion, and then when Grantaire starting talking back, picking apart his argument, Enjolras sat back in his chair and just listened, making no move to interrupt and try and get conversation back on topic.

Combeferre stared at him, confused. He texted him under the table. [ _What are you doing?_ ]

Enjolras frowned at his phone, but quickly texted back, [ _Letting Grantaire talk. Show him that I respect his opinions and such._ ]

[ _Do you really think that’s going to work?_ ]

Enjolras scowled and shoved his phone in his pocket, crossing his arms in front of his chest and pointedly turning to give Grantaire his undivided attention.

After about five straight minutes of ranting, Grantaire seemed to notice that Enjolras was making no move to stop him and he faltered mid-sentence. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked, frowning.

Shaking his head, Enjolras said honestly, “No. I figured I’d let you talk for a bit. I’m enjoying listening to what you have to say.”

Grantaire’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and instead of looking happy or flattered the way Enjolras had anticipated, he looked…well, he looked  _pissed_. “You’re making fun of me,” he said quietly.

“What? No—” Enjolras started, but Grantaire just shook his head, face flushing.

“Fuck you, Enjolras,” he spat, turning away. “I’ve had enough of…of whatever game you’re trying to play with the notecards and this whole bullshit. Just stop.”

Enjolras just stared at him blankly, unable to respond, to say what he wanted to, until Grantaire snorted derisively and turned away, started to leave, and then Enjolras was up and out of his chair before he could stop himself, talking before he could stop and think about the words spilling out of his mouth. “Grantaire,  _you_  stop. Stop and  _listen_  to me.”

Even now, even after everything, a command from Enjolras was a command from Enjolras, and Grantaire froze, though he didn’t turn around and his shoulders tensed. Enjolras bit his lip and hesitated for just a second before letting everything spill out. “I’m sorry, really I am, if I’ve made you feel like this is a game or like I’m making fun of you, and I know it’s my fault, I know it’s because I’m…well, I’m hopeless at this sort of thing which is why I don’t typically attempt it, but how could I not attempt it when I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking about nothing more than what you lips would taste like?” The room was absolutely silent, and Enjolras barreled on, his heart pounding desperately within his chest. “I know I’m an ass and I’m probably nothing that you’ve ever wanted but you…you’re  _fascinating_  to me, and I go about everything all wrong, but every argument we’ve had…I remember every single one of them and I just…somewhere along the line I realized that I really liked arguing with you and then I realized I really liked not arguing with you, too, and then I think I may have fallen in love with you and I never know what to do about that so this is it. This is what I’ve been trying to do.”

Grantaire still didn’t turn, though his shoulders seemed to tense even more, if that were possible. “So you aren’t just making fun of me?” he asked quietly.

Enjolras shrugged hopelessly. “Grantaire, I wouldn’t even begin to know  _how_ to make fun of you.”

With that, Grantaire turned around, something fierce in his expression, and Enjolras almost flinched, worried about what Grantaire was going to say now, but Grantaire just crossed to him in three strides, pulling him into a fierce kiss, the kind that threatened to burn Enjolras from the inside if it wasn’t for the way that he pressed back against Grantaire, opening his mouth against Grantaire’s, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s neck.

To Enjolras’s embarrassment, all of their friends burst into applause, and when they broke apart a few minutes later, Grantaire grinned at him, lacing his fingers firmly with Enjolras’s as he told him softly, “Bow, Apollo,” dipping into his own mocking bow to their applause. Enjolras awkwardly followed suit, though he also blushed furiously, his blush deepening when Grantaire kissed him again (but then again, Grantaire was  _kissing_  him, and Enjolras forgot to be embarrassed. Eventually).


End file.
